Neville Does Hogwarts: Live & Uncut, Part 6

by Libertine

He only screamed when he realised what it was -- when the shudder of movement amidist the brambles took shape and slithered toward him, a scaley nightmare rendered in black and red. 

In the minutes preceeding this moment Neville had been happy enough, pottering with his hands wrist deep in dirt.  He always enjoyed Herbology; it was the only lesson in which he felt no pressure.  Squatting on his knees by the garden bed, he let his fingers automatically run through the rituals of potting, planting, weeding, while his mind turned over the various issues which troubled or, alternatively, entertained him.  The matter of Malfoy could be catergorised as both. 

Tougue poking slightly out of his mouth, Neville mused over his memories of the naked Slytherin.  The night of the impromptu skinny dipping.. the thin blonde boy poised dripping and smug by the lake`s edge.. smirking, serene and utterly beautiful.  It was an image which had haunted Neville`s brain for the past few days, a wonderful vision which could, at least for a short period of time, dispell the clutter of self-doubts and frustrations which normally clouded his thoughts. 

A little bud of pleasure unfolded in Neville`s stomach and curled down into his crotch, a happy secret warmth which made a small ridge in the front of his trousers.

//He he he.//

Beside him, Harry was whispering animatedly to Ron about something or other -- girls, girls, girls, most probably.  Neville didn`t care to eavesdrop; not that either Ron or Harry would have minded if he had.  They were his friends, after all.. and yet, at the same time, they were not -- they treated Neville differently from say, Seamus or Dean.  If Seamus had crawled into Harry`s bed at night, scared witless by the rain or a particularly ominous shadow, Harry would no doubt have told the boy to fuck off.  Neville, however, occupied a position of quiet innocence amidst the Gryffindor crowd.  An aura of purity haloed him, (much as he hated it), and the others responded to his quavering presence with sympathy, pity and compassion. 

No more and no better than a child, really...

Still resting on his haunches, Neville wriggled his bum until his heel pressed directly between his buttocks.  He undulated his bum in a slow, careful way, thankful his pants were too baggy for anyone to notice, thankful everyone was involved in their own little dramas to spot his squirming.  The little ridge in his trousers was causing him some slight discomfort.  Under the pretense of adjusting the garment over his thighs, he daringly let his hand press against it -- just for a second.  A minor indulgence.  The slight friction was marvellous and terrible both at once; his cheeks flushed a deep pink.  In order to camoflague his arousal he bent over from the waist, and felt the hard, snub spike of his penis push into softness of his belly.

Then he saw the snake.

For a second he sat there, stunned.  Then it began to move toward him, all boneless body and wicked forked tongue, and Neville pointed and screamed.  His legs would not work; he could not move; the blood had drained from his face and into his heart, which began to beat double-time, triple-time so that Neville imagined it might implode from the pressure.

//I`m being punished,// he thought wildly.  //This is my punishment, for thinking..  for *aching*..//  and he continued to scream in a voice that was too high pitched to be his own until someone grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

//Harry..//

Neville subsided into the protection of Harry`s firm back, one hand clutching Harry`s upper arm in a tight, frantic shackle of trembling fingers.  His face was wet with tears, rivulets of liquid which trickled from his eyes to smear the mud on Harry`s shoulder.  He shivered and wept, hanging on like a determined leech as Harry shouted angrily at the serpent in the grass.

Then:

         “Phew.  Hey, Nev..”

Harry pried away Neville`s hand and turned.  “Okay, it`s gone now..”

Neville sobbed, barely caring.  It *had* been there; it had looked at him with its beady bitter eyes like some slippery embodiment of retribution, and his cock had all the life drained from it in that horrible instant.  His body shuddered violently with each gasp of breath, and Harry, the merciful hero of the moment, reached down to squeeze him.  Neville`s arms circled the taller boy`s waist, almost autonomous of his control; he spluttered a babble of meaningless apologies into Harry`s chest.  This hysterical tirade of ‘I`m sorrys’ and ‘no, nos’ and ‘never agains’ were muted in Harry`s shirt, but their gist remained clear.  Harry, taking pity, scruffed a hand comfortingly through Neville`s hair.

“It`s okay Nev.. the thing`s nicked off to the forest now.  It isn`t going to hurt you..”

“..no..”

“You think I`d have let it hurt you, eh?  Don`t be silly..”

“..sorry..”

“Sorry?  It`s not your fault, for godsake.. hey, come on.  Nev..”

“Is he going to be okay?”  Professor Sprout`s voice.

“Yeah, I think,” Harry replied.  “He`s just in shock, I reckon.”

Performing a surpreme act of willpower, Neville forced the shudders which racked his body to still.  He sniffed; he straightened, but could not yet bring himself to relinquish the solace of Harry`s form.  As the Professor began to marvel aloud at the strange creatures which were turning up in her vegetable patches these days, Neville rubbed his face clean (or as clean as he could) on Harry`s clothes. 

The Boy Who Lived, or the Boy Who Saved, patted him gently, kindly, and managed -- in his perfect, ignorant patience -- to completely fail to understand.